Fan The Flames
by Petite Moineau
Summary: A collection of Solavellan one-shots. Spoilers of course, mostly angst-y but might upload some fluffy ones too.
1. What Does the Wolf Fear?

A tingle of energy went up Solas' spine like a thousand tiny pin picks. There was so much energy twisted up in the Fade, echos of fragmented dreams and remnants of spirits long forgotten. Being there physically was like having veilfire in your veins. And over all of that, a heavy cloud of fear threatened to choke everyone in their company. He had to ignore it, lest the demon grow even more powerful. It was a struggle. It knew exactly what to say to make your heart freeze.

But the shiver that gripped Solas now was different, like someone stepping over your grave. And when he looked down he saw that that was exactly what he had done. The Inquisitor's party had wandered into a graveyard. The tombstones were theirs, their names carved boldly into the stone. Underneath each name was the fear which had killed them.

Everyone stared in silence, momentarily taken aback at seeing their worst fears revealed to the rest of the party. They quickly shuffled on. Not wanting to dwell in the place where their fears were laid bare in such a macabre way.

Solas lingered at his own grave. He would normally have found such a thing fascinating, the attempt to rattle them, to try to get them to give in. But the chill in his spine had frozen him in place. He could not help think that he was looking at his future

A gloved hand slipped into his. He looked up into the bright green eyes staring at him. Lavellan smiled at him, giving his hand a squeeze. Without speaking, she told him that he didn't have to fear dying alone, that she would always be with him. He found himself smiling back at her and brought her hand to his lips.

"Ar lath ma vhenan," he said softly so his voice wouldn't tremble like his soul was. She didn't know that her comfort only hurt him deeper. She didn't know that they couldn't be together forever, that this would end.

After giving it a final squeeze, Lavellan let go of his hand and walked on. After a moment he followed. His resolve wavered. Did he have to leave? Or could he abandon the goal that had driven him for so long? For her, he would do anything. If she asked him to stay, Solas feared that his will would break. He didn't want to die alone.

He shook himself. Best not to dwell on these things. They had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. He would deal with that later. He had some time left. He still had some time left with her.


	2. The Fire That Consumes

Solas walked into Skyhold's library, borrowed tomes in hand. He had just finished reading one of volumes he had selected the other day and hadn't realized the hour. It was late and the candles burned low making the library nearly completely dark. The shadows hung thick like years-old spider webs.

Across the tower circle, he saw a table, brightly aglow with fresh candles. The people at Skyhold usually stole sleep whenever they could which meant the Library was usually empty this late. Whoever it was must have something important to do. Or perhaps they had just gotten caught up in a book and forgot the rest of the world.

He put away the borrowed books and made his way to the table.

A sharp pang pierced his heart when he saw who was at the table. Akhaja was stooped low over a parchment, quill in hand, vigorously writing and deeply intent. She was bent so low that he could not see her face, and her fingers around the quill were white. Her hair was disheveled and unwashed. Solas had seen her like this when they were on the road but she kept up her appearance at Skyhold usually. He approached the table.

"Inquisitor," he said gently, his voice heavy with sympathy.

"Not now, Solas, I'm busy." She didn't even look at him. The sound of her pen scraping against the parchment was like a sword against a whetstone.

"Can this not wait till morning?" He sighed.

"There is much to be done." She replied, her voice sounded weary.

"Other people can handle the paperwork." He tilted his head to the side, trying to get a better angle on her face.

"Some things only the Inquisitor can do. I have responsibilities." Akhaja sounded irritated now.

"Akhaja," Solas said, his voice near pleading. He leaned over the table and put his hand on hers to still her writing.

She finally looked up at him, her warm, green eyes bloodshot and wild. In the candlelight her cheeks gathered darkness deeper than before, her eyes were heavy and full of shadows, her lips pale. He had heard rumors that the Inquisitor had not slept in days, but he usually paid no heed to them. They came from the mouths of those that mistakenly named her 'Andraste's chosen'. But it seemed that this time the rumors were true.

"You will burn yourself out." He stared at her, trying to communicate how worried he was.

Akhaja eyed his hand, "I have to keep going, the world entire world depends on me."

"If you do not sleep at some point, you will not be alive to save it." He stood straight up and put his hands behind his back.

"I can't sleep because when I sleep, I dream and-" she cut herself off abruptly and looked away.

Her words hit him like a giant's club to the chest. He looked down at his feet in shame. This was his fault.

"I-I could cast a spell, if you like," he sputtered out awkwardly.

"No," she said before all his words were out, standing up sharply. "No, I'll be fine. Goodnight, Solas."

"Goodnight, Inquisitor." His heart fell as she brushed past him and descended the stairs, leaving the writing unfinished.

He would not be sleeping tonight either.


End file.
